


For the Love of Brotherhood

by Sally_Winchester



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Slow Build, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-16 12:01:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3487490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sally_Winchester/pseuds/Sally_Winchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos, Aramis and Porthos were the three best soldiers in the king’s musketeers. Captain Treville had dubbed them ‘the three inseparables’ due to the strong friendship they shared, making them brothers in not blood but bond. Therefore, it came as a shock to all of them when the bright-eyed, hot-headed young farm boy not only wormed his way into their group but also into their hearts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Surprise Return

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in the break between series one and two, so I apologise if it is canon divergent.

The beginning to their friendship was… Unique. When d’Artagnan entered the courtyard to the musketeer garrison on that day, he did not know that he was about to meet the three most important people in his life.

Athos, Aramis and Porthos were the three best soldiers in the king’s musketeers. Captain Treville had dubbed them ‘the three inseparables’ due to the strong friendship they shared, making them brothers in not blood but bond. Therefore, it came as a shock to all of them when the bright-eyed, hot-headed young farm boy not only wormed his way into their group but also into their hearts.

It seemed like an effortless transition from their group of three to the four of them. The banter that they shared came as easy as breathing. They never noticed an absence before they met him, but having adopted d’Artagnan as one of their own, it felt like they had had a little brother all along.

Sitting at their bench in the garrison training yard, the musketeer’s newest recruit watched on with admiration as Athos took the newest batch of trainees through their paces with the sword. One by one, Athos effortlessly disarmed the new hopeful with surprising ease before moving them to one side to make room for another opponent. After half an hour of constant duels, Athos was barely breaking a sweat.

“That’s enough ‘duelling’ for one day. Make your way to Porthos for some hand-to-hand training.” Athos announced before sheathing his sword and making his way across the courtyard to take a seat opposite d’Artagnan.

“You know, just because you’re a fully-fledged musketeer now, that doesn’t mean that you can slack on your training.” Athos enquired, raising an eyebrow at his young friend.

“I was just admiring your handiwork.” The young man replied with a cheeky grin on his face.

The older musketeer reached for the nearest clean cup and poured himself a glass of wine. “Well, simply admiring won’t help improve your own technique.”

“Listen to your elder, he is very wise.” Aramis added, walking over with a harquebus in hand, shooting his most dashing smile at Athos as he took a seat next to the Gascon. D’Artagnan laughed, only to cut himself short as he caught a glance of his mentor’s surly face.

“Oh, cheer up would you? It was meant as a compliment!”

“Really? Because it sounded rather sarcastic to me.”

“Me? Sarcastic? Never!” Aramis replied, putting on his best offended look.

As Athos’ lips curled slightly into a grin, Aramis beamed with victory, before returning his attentions to cleaning his gun. There was a grunt of pain from over Athos’s left shoulder as Porthos threw one of the new recruits into a nearby pile of hay, as easy as throwing a child over his shoulder. Porthos merely laughed as his next victim shuffled towards him, shaking like a leaf.

“You boys need to be more careful with these new kids, or there’ll be no-one left to train.” Aramis pointed out.

“Good. We don’t need weak men in the musketeers, what we need are more recruits like our d’Artagnan here” Athos gestured to the young man with his cup.

At the compliment, the young Gascon turned several shades of red, before ducking his head coyly. It was rare that Athos gave such an obvious compliment, so when he did it meant a lot to the recipient, and d’Artagnan was no exception. He nodded in thanks to his mentor’s kind words, before turning his attentions back towards Porthos. These were the kind of mornings that d’Artagnan loved, sat with his brother’s making light conversation about the world. It was not to last for long though, as Treville walked out of his office and over to the railing to address them.

“Athos, Aramis, d’Artagnan!” He called “I want to see you in my office, and try to get Porthos on your way.” He added, glancing over at the larger man easily tipping yet another man onto the floor with a broad grin plastered on his face.

After collecting Porthos (much to the delight of the trainees), the four men headed up the stairs and into Treville’s office. Shutting the door behind them, the four turned their attention to their captain, patiently awaiting their orders.

“Gentlemen!” Treville clapped his hands, before sitting down in his chair. “We have a mission at last.” He smiled at them.  
It had been a very long, hot summer with very little excitement. This was to be their first mission in weeks. “You are under orders from the Queen to personally escort Ninön de Larroque to Paris.”

D’Artagnan’s eyebrow quirked at the news. He had briefly known Ninön in the past, whilst investigating the death of a young woman.  
“But sir, I thought that the cardinal had banned her from ever returning?” Athos enquired. It was no secret that Athos had feelings for the woman during their brief acquaintance, so it was no surprise that his interest was piqued by the prospect of her returning to the city.

“She was, but since the demise of the cardinal, the queen has seen fit to bring her back.” Treville answered casually “You are to ride out immediately to collect her. She lives in a small village four days ride from here, I shall give you a map to show you her location.” He rolled out the map to show the four men, before handing it over to Athos. “I trust this mission should not be a problem for you?” The captain asked, skimming his eyes over each of his men, but resting on Athos the longest.

“No, no problem, sir.” The eldest musketeer replied, meeting Treville’s eyes.

“Good, then you may be off. See you return safe.” The captain remarked, as the four men walked out of the door and closed it behind them.

As soon as they were out onto the walkway outside the captain’s office, Athos set about giving his commands to organise everyone for the mission. Within ten minutes of separating to pack and prepare, the four musketeers reconvened in the stables to saddle their horses.

“Ninön de Larroque, eh? I bet you’re looking forward to seeing her!” Porthos teased, nudging his older brother after securing his saddle bags.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” Athos replied dryly, his face an unmoving mask of indifference.

“Oh, come on!” Aramis interjected “We all know that you were sweet on her.” He crooned, ever the romantic.

D’Artagnan kept quiet and merely watched on as his brothers teased their eldest, in the hopes of getting some response. Athos, as stone faced as ever, merely led his horse quietly from the stables before mounting outside.

“He’s no fun.” Porthos dead-panned, before following his friend’s lead.

Making their way through the bustling Parisian street, the acrid stench of faeces mixed with the overwhelming scent of body odour was almost too much for the young Gascon to take. Having lived nearly all of his life in the clean country air, he was still not used to the assault on the senses that you receive as you make your way through the busier parts of the city. Relief flooded through him like a cooling waterfall when he spotted the city limits, knowing it was only a matter of time before he was in the crisp, clean countryside air once more.

Following his brothers from the back, as they rode at a leisurely pace through their idyllic surroundings, d’Artagnan’s mind began to wonder. As he gazed upon the back of his mentor’s head, he couldn’t help but wonder what his mentor was thinking about. Knowing how complicated his past love life had been, he couldn’t help but wonder whether he would ever get over his murderess wife and move on, and if he would be moving on with Ninön.

It had saddened d’Artagnan to watch Athos try to drown out the memory of his past life as a Comte, his past life with her, time and time again. This lead d’Artagnan to believe that maybe it was a good thing that Ninön would be returning to Paris, that Athos might have a chance at happiness with her. Although, he couldn’t help noticing that deep down somewhere inside of him, something didn’t feel quite right. He wanted his friend to be happy, but why did he feel a twinge of doubt every time he thought of it? Dismissing the doubt as nothing more than him projecting his own feelings of failed relationships upon Athos, the young Gascon resigned himself to be hopeful that his friend may once again find happiness in love.

It was getting dark, and the sky was turning from light pinks to deeper shades of oranges when they finally decided to rest for the night. It had been a pleasant day’s ride, and they had stopped for the night in a field next to a narrow stream. Having watered the horses and secured them for the night, the four men sat down to enjoy a well-deserved dinner. Serge had packed them a veritable feast of chicken; as well as bread, cheese and an assortment of fruit. They ate well, saving some food for breakfast the next morning. Fed, watered and relaxed, they all lay down for the night.

It was a mild summer’s night, so they all lay happily in the open under the stars, with only their cloaks to cover them. It was peaceful apart from the odd laugh from Porthos, which seemed excessively loud given the almost silent backdrop.

“Athos?” d’Artagnan said softly to the man laying closest to him around the fire.

“Mm.” Was the response he got from under the hat that had been placed over the older man’s face as he prepared to sleep.

“Do you think you could love her?” d’Artagnan tentatively asked.

The pause was so long after his question, that the young man was sure that his friend had fallen asleep. Eventually, Athos reached a hand up and slowly removed his hat so that he could turn and look at his protégé. "What?” Athos responded bluntly.

Now it was d’Artagnan’s turn to hesitate, unsure whether to carry on this line of questioning for fear of upsetting his friend. “It’s just that… I was just wondering…” Athos quirked an eyebrow as he waited “I just thought that because you two were so… close, that maybe you… loved her?” the Gascon finished nervously.

Shuffling himself back and propping himself up on one elbow, Athos adjusted himself to get a better view of the young man’s face. “Why do you ask?” Athos replied in short.

D’Artagnan took his time answering, he wasn’t exactly sure what provoked him to ask his friend something so deeply personal. Maybe it was simply the thought of Athos letting himself fall in love again, that it intrigued him. “It’s just that if you thought that you could love Ninön, then maybe there is hope for me finding love again… after Constance.” D’Artagnan replied earnestly.

Athos seemed to think over the young man’s words before answering “I think that maybe I could love again,” he paused to focus his piercing blue eyes on those of the chocolate brown ones of the man who lay beside him “whether that is with Ninön or not is yet to be determined.” Reshuffling so that he once again lay on his back, he replaced the hat onto his face. “But this is a conversation for another time.”

With that, the conversation ended. Sleep did not find d’Artagnan for a long while after that. His mind was whirling with different scenarios for his future, and for the first time in a long time, he could see himself being happy with someone that wasn't Constance.


	2. Collecting the Former Comtesse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys set out to collect Ninon, but their journey is a little harder on d'Artagnan than it should be...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the kind people who took the time to read and leave kudos on my first chapter. As I have said, this is my first ever Musketeers fic, so your support means a lot to me.

Dawn broke to illuminate another glorious summer’s day in France’s picturesque countryside. d’Artagnan awoke with renewed vigour for life after his late night conversation with Athos, it put a bounce in his step and a smile on his face. Aramis and Porthos had noticed the change in d’Artagnan and shot Athos questioning looks, to which Athos just shrugged and resumed his business. It seemed that the young Gascon’s mood was infectious, for after they enjoyed a hearty breakfast, they all climbed upon their horses with a smile ready to face another day’s journey.

As they rode on, the youngest musketeer pulled his horse up alongside that of Aramis so that they could talk. “Aramis, I need advice on something.” The young man prompted.

“Ah, then you have come to the right place, my friend!” Aramis beamed.

He fiddled with the reigns of his horse as he wondered where to begin. “You’re good at making people fall in love with you, right?”

Aramis smirked at the compliment. “Yeah, I suppose so, why?”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve only ever made one person fall in love with me, but we can never be together.” He looked down at his hands, a sombre mask now taking the place of his earlier grin. “So, I was wondering, how do I make someone else fall in love with me? Someone that I actually might have a chance with.”

Aramis’ brow furrowed. Looking over at his friend, it was then he realised just how young he was and how much pain he had already endured for the sake of love. “There is no real secret to it, I’m afraid.” He admitted “Constance fell in love with you, not because of something you did, but because of who you are. I’m sure that, in time, others will come to the same realisation.” Aramis said softly, before reaching over and gripping the younger man’s shoulder.

D’Artagnan only nodded in response, still staring blindly at his hands. Athos who had been riding ahead of them with Porthos, but who had still been in earshot, turned to give his friend a concerned look. He had been wondering what had provoked their late night conversation about love, and it seems that he had just found out. Like Aramis, it saddened the eldest musketeer greatly to see one so young carry such a heavy burden of heartbreak. Looking at his friend then, Athos swore that he would do everything in his power to make his friend believe in love again.

The next few days of the journey went smoothly, until after four long days on the road, they rode into the village that Ninön de Larroque now called home. It was a quaint little place, with no more than a dozen buildings all together. As they rode past small, dilapidated stone cottages, Athos pointed out what they suspected to be Ninön’s house. It was a modest house, much like the others they had passed on the way in, but had a child’s doll in the window and a small sign outside that read:

‘Ninön de Larroque’s School for Girls’

They dismounted their horses and approached the front of the building on foot. Passing the reigns off to Porthos, Athos stepped up to the front door and knocked firmly. There was a soft rustling noise that came from inside, before the door flew open. “Athos!” Ninön gasped as she snaked her arms around his neck and pulled him into an embrace. After a beat, Athos returned the gesture. When they broke apart, her face split into a broad grin. “It is so nice to see you again.”

“And you mademoiselle.” Athos replied with a courteous nod.

Finally glancing around, Ninön noticed the other three musketeers hanging back. “There is a stable at the back of the house if you wish to take care of your horses.” She directed in their general direction, before grasping hold of Athos’ arm and pulling inside the house. The remaining three musketeers shared a look, but said nothing. Instead, they led their horses to the stable, before stripping them of their saddles and ensuring that they were fed and watered. “Well, she definitely seemed happy to see Athos, didn’t she?” Porthos smirked, brushing his horse’s mane.

“She did indeed.” Aramis returned with a grin of his own.

When d’Artagnan failed to say anything, the two brothers turned to look at their youngest. “Anything wrong, d’Artagnan?” Aramis enquired, his dark brown eyes filled with worry.

“No, it’s nothing, I’m fine.” He lied, never bothering to look at his friends.

Aramis and Porthos shared a concerned gaze but said nothing. The boy was as stubborn as a mule, if he didn’t want to talk about it there was no way they would be able to make him. Instead, they finished up with the horses and made their way back around to the house.

Pushing the door open, which had been closed in their absence, they walked into the house with their eyes roaming in search of Athos. The inside was much like the outside in its simplicity, although the main room was littered with feeble looking chairs and piles of books on every available flat surface. Scanning the room for signs of Athos, the three of them moved quietly further into the house. d’Artagnan heard quiet voices coming from behind one of the closed doors off of the hallway. “I think they’re in there” he whispered in the quietness of the house, gesturing to the offending door.

“They’re in the bedroom already? She moves quickly doesn’t she?” Porthos, never one to be quiet, uttered a bit too loudly before barking out a laugh. Aramis was quick to shush him, as they made their way back to the main room to wait for them there. Whilst Aramis hesitantly perched on one of the precarious looking chairs, Porthos went to stand by the window, not wanting to break the furniture. d’Artagnan paced the floor several times before excusing himself with the feeble lie that he wanted to double check his saddle bags. Once d’Artagnan was safely out of earshot, Porthos turned to Aramis “Is it just me, or does something seem off about that kid to you?”

“No, you’re right. Something has been off with him this entire trip, he has been melancholy and lovesick for days now.”

Porthos’ brow furrowed “What do you think is up with ‘im?”

“I think that the whole Constance thing has finally caught up with him. And maybe the potential for Athos to get the woman he wants has sparked jealousy?” Aramis mused.

“Aye, maybe…” Porthos agreed.

It was at this point that Athos and Ninön entered the room. Athos cast a worried eye of the scene he had just walked into. “Is everything alright?”

“What?” Porthos looked up to see the concerned expression on their leaders face “Oh, yeah, everything’s fine.”

Seeming unconvinced, he glanced between his brother’s faces and searched for a third “Where’s d’Artagnan?”

“Oh, he’s out checking his saddle bags.” Aramis explained.

"What? Why?”

“Maybe ‘e wants to be thorough?” Porthos offered, but with no real conviction.

Athos looked to Aramis for a better explanation, but the latter just shrugged. Sighing, he let the matter drop and moved to join Aramis on one of the chairs. Ninön then made her presence known. Clearing her throat to get the men’s attention, she addressed the other two musketeers for the first time “Athos has informed me that you are weary from your long journey. I shall see that you get some food. Athos, you may sleep in my room tonight. As for you two,” looking directly at Aramis and Porthos “I shall leave out some spare blankets and pillows for you and your friend, I’m sure that you can make yourselves comfortable elsewhere in the house?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. The two musketeers nodded in response, before she left the room to go to the kitchen.

“I don’t think that she likes us very much…” Aramis noted to Porthos.

“I wouldn’t take it personally,” Athos said coolly “she just doesn’t like men in general.” He then got up and followed Ninön out of the room.

“She seems to like ‘im well enough.” Porthos retorted wryly, once his friend has left the room.

“True enough.” Aramis said as he stood “I think that I’ll go check on our youngest before dinner.”

Leaving Porthos to begin a solitary game of cards, Aramis made his way round to the stables behind the house. He peered in through the doorway to search for their missing comrade. The silhouette of his friend could just about be made out in the dying light of the evening. Aramis entered the stable quietly and made his way to the back stall, where his friend was busy caring for his horse.

“Everything okay with the saddle bags?” Aramis teased, with a cheeky grin of his face.

d’Artagnan jumped with fright, having not heard Aramis come in. “What? Oh, er, yeah. I guess.” He muttered.

“Great! Then you can come back inside and play a game of cards with me and Porthos.”

The Gascon eyed his brother hesitantly before sighing and following the older man out of the stable and back around to the house. He entered the main room and cautiously took a seat beside Porthos, who was sat at a small table in the far corner of the room. “Ah, there you are!” Athos declared as he walked into the room, holding two bottles of wine and some cups “So you’ve decided to join us, at last.” He said, setting them down on the only empty flat surface that he could find.

“It’s only vegetable soup for dinner,” Ninön announced as she entered the room carrying a large steaming bowl “as I live a simple life now, so you’ll just have to make do.” She said, before retreating out of the room to fetch the accompanying bread.

They ate in companionable silence, with all their concentration focused on not spilling the boiling hot soup that they had precariously balanced on their knees. The food was nice, despite it being simple. By the time they had finished their meals, the musketeers were dozing in their seats, exhausted by the day’s travelling.  
“Right, off to bed with all of you.” Ninön demanded in a matronly voice.

Being more than happy to oblige, they cleared their plates away and collected their blanket and pillow. Aramis settled for the floor in the main room, whilst Porthos sat himself on one of the sturdier looking chairs, propping his feet up on an adjacent chair. That just left d’Artagnan. He watched his brothers get settled and Athos follow Ninön into her bedroom. With a pang of what he refused to believe as jealousy, d’Artagnan waited until he was sure his brothers were asleep, then gathered up his blanket and pillow and snuck out of the house to go and sleep in the stable with the horses.

Aramis, ever the early riser, was first to wake. As he sat up and stretched, rubbing sleep from his bleary eyes, he surveyed the room. It was a wonder how he got any sleep at night, as his man-mountain of a best friend was snoring so loudly that Aramis was sure that he would wake the dead. With an amused smile playing on his face, he looked around for his other brother only to find that he wasn’t there.

“d’Artagnan?” Aramis whispered in the darkness, careful not to wake anyone (although, with Porthos’ snoring, whispers were probably not needed). Concern grew for his young friend as he moved through the house and there was still no sign. He decided to check if his horse was still there, or if he had ridden off in the night. He pushed open the stable door with a creak and squinted into the darkness. “d’Artagnan?” He whispered again urgently, noticing that the boy’s horse was still where he left it. As his eyes began to adjust to the light, he could make out the figure of his friend lying in the hay of one of the empty horse pens. Sighing a breath of relief he moved slowly and carefully towards his sleeping friend, being careful not to frighten him again. “d’Artagnan?” Aramis shook him gently, eliciting a soft moan from the boy. “d’Artagnan, wake up. It’s morning.” In truth, it was barely dawn, but he couldn’t just leave his friend out here on his own.

“Already?” d’Artagnan moaned as he sat up and turned to face Aramis.

“What were you doing sleeping out here?” Aramis asked, worry clear in his eyes.

“I couldn’t sleep with Porthos’ snoring” d’Artagnan jested with a half-hearted laugh.

Clearly he was not fooling anyone, but it was too early in the morning for that kind of discussion. “Come on then, let’s get you inside.” Aramis offered him a hand up, allowing the Gascon to collect his pillow and blanket before following him back to the house.

No-one had woken as they snuck back into the house. They sat down with their backs rested against the wall, listening to the steady snores that erupted from Porthos’ chest. They were silent for a long while before Aramis decided to push his luck and try to question d’Artagnan about his behaviour.

“Look,” Aramis started off tentatively “I know that things have been hard for you lately, especially with everything that has happened with Constance…” It hurt to see that her name caused the boy to physically flinch like he’s being hit. “But ever since we got this mission you’ve been acting strangely. I was just wondering whether you would like to talk about it.”

d’Artagnan thought the words over in his head “I suppose it is just that when we are back at the garrison, training and talking, it is like nothing has ever changed.” He shook his head “But being out here, on this mission, I’ve had time to think things over. I wish I hadn’t.” He said as he closed his eyes. Aramis wanted to console his brother, but he didn’t want to speak until he was sure that the Gascon had finished. “It has brought up all of these feelings that I didn’t know that I had, or had supressed for my own sanity.” Aramis nodded in understanding. Sliding an arm across the boys shoulders, he offered the boy physical support, because he wasn’t sure what he could say to make him feel better. After a few seconds, d’Artagnan leaned into the touch and let his head lie on Aramis’ shoulder. They weren’t sure how long they stayed like that, but that is how Athos found them when he walked into the room, pink clouds in the sky indicating that it was dawn.

“Is everything okay?” Athos’ voice startled both of the men as they hadn’t noticed the older musketeer enter the room.

“Yeah, fine.” Aramis reassured him, as d’Artagnan pulled away from his warmth and went to gaze out of the window.

The sound of voices seemed to rouse Porthos from his slumber as his snoring abruptly stopped and he sat up and stretched. “Mornin’” He managed to say around a yawn, before pulling on his boots that he had discarded the night before and walking outside to take care of nature’s call. Athos had yet to move from the spot where he had stood when he entered. Aramis raised an eyebrow at him as Ninön de Larroque emerged from her bedroom to stand beside the musketeer.

“Your musketeers should prepare their horses whilst you help me load the carriage.” She said, holding onto Athos’ arm to ensure that she has his attention. Athos nodded in agreement as he turned on his heels and followed her out of the room.

“You heard her,” Aramis spoke up “we should grab some food to load into the saddlebags for the journey.” Slowly, d’Artagnan turned from the window and followed Aramis, mentally preparing himself for the long journey home.


	3. Back to Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After collecting Ninon, the boys make their way back to Paris, but d'Artagnan finds that it wasn't quite the respite that he was desperately looking for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I just want to say thank you so much to everybody who has took the time to read my story and leave kudos and comments, it really means the world to me! Secondly, I would like to apologise in advance for the slightly disjointed nature of this chapter, I wanted to move them back to Paris rather quickly so it may feel jumpy in places. I promise that there will be more action in the next chapter. That aside, I hope that you enjoy it anyway.

An hour later, the carriage was packed and they were ready to be on their way back to Paris. d’Artagnan couldn’t wait to get back, and so led the group from the front. Athos drove the carriage whilst Aramis and Porthos brought up the rear. Ninön sat silently beside Athos with a book in hand, seemingly miles away, lost in some adventure and unaware of her surroundings. Travelling with a fully loaded carriage was painfully slow work, which meant that when Athos purposefully dropped the pace to put distance between themselves and d’Artagnan, he slowed to nearly a stop. “Is something the matter?” Porthos enquired as he pulled alongside Athos.

“I was wondering if you would mind telling me what is wrong with d’Artagnan?” The older man questioned sternly.

Panic flashed across Porthos’ face at the anger in his friend’s tone. “I don’t know…” Porthos pleaded as he held up his hands in defence. This action caused Athos to wheel around and glare at Aramis.

“Beats me.” Aramis said as innocently as he could.

“Don’t lie to me.” Anger flashed across his icy blue eyes “I saw you two this morning! So are you going to tell me what’s going on with him or not?”

Aramis resisted the urge to fidget under his brother’s glare. “Look, he’s just having a hard time working through his emotions, okay?”

Both Aramis and Porthos could see that this wasn’t the answer that Athos had wanted, but it had placated him enough that he sped up his pace again, and left his brothers to their own thoughts once more.

d’Artagnan came to reflect on that four day journey home as some of the longest and most uncomfortable days that he could remember. His attempts to isolate himself from the others were the only respite from the unbearable pregnant silences of when they all sat together. Suffice to say that Ninön did not share Aramis and Porthos’ crude sense of humour, so light-hearted banter was out of the question, and without talk the silence was deafening. Even when he did manage to seclude himself from the group, he could practically feel three sets of eyes boring into the back of his skull. He felt guilty for making them worry, but until they were back in Paris, d’Artagnan was adamant that he would keep his distance for his own sanity.

Just as it had been leaving, stepping back into Paris felt like releasing a breath that he didn't realise he'd been holding. Seeing the usual hustle and bustle of Parisian life as people went about their daily business was like a breath of fresh air to him, calming him and reminding him that he was home. As soon as he rode up to the garrison, he quickly dismounted and threw the reigns of his horse at the nearest stable boy before he sprinted back to his room. Closing the door behind him in his room, he breathed in deeply, he was safe and he was home.

A few minutes later Aramis and Porthos rode casually through the garrison gates, and looked around in hopes of seeing their little brother before they had to report to Treville. It was not to be. Glumly, the two musketeers trudged towards the stairs and up to their captain’s office. The journey had taken its toll on all of them, so after a brief explanation that the trip had been uneventful, the brothers escaped intent on indulging their personal vices in the local tavern.

“We have arrived, mademoiselle.” Athos announced as he helped Ninön down from the carriage.

She inhaled deeply as she blinked up at the summer eve’s sky. “It’s so nice to be back.” She smiled contentedly before following Athos into the palace. After Athos had safely deposited Mademoiselle de Larroque at the queen’s side, he politely took his leave, with a promise to visit the teacher the next day. With that, Athos departed the palace. Unhooking his horse from the carriage, he rode swiftly through the emptying streets of Paris. Arriving at the garrison only to find it deserted, he left the horse in the stables and he too headed directly to the tavern. It was there that he found Aramis and Porthos sat in close proximity to one another, talking low and intently about something. Clearing his throat, he approached the two men cautiously. “Am I interrupting?”

Both pairs of eyes shot up to meet those of their leader’s.“No, er…”Aramis coughed “Not at all.” He said with a forced grin on his face. Porthos merely smiled meekly. Athos quirked an eyebrow, but sat down nonetheless. Aramis and Porthos shared a confused look, it was out of character for the older musketeer to join them for drinks as he usually preferred his own company.

“So which one of you are going to tell me what is going on?” Athos started.

“I’m not sure what you mean…” Aramis drawled “Did Mademoiselle de Larroque get to the palace safely?” he asked, in the hope to divert the conversation.

“Yes,” replied tersely, but not to be distracted he turned to face Porthos “well?”

“We were just talking, that’s all.”

The musketeer’s icy blue eyes glared over at his two friends suspiciously. “Look, I know that there is something wrong with d’Artagnan, and I don’t believe that you are telling me the whole truth.”

“We only know as much as you do.” Aramis held up his hands defensively, the larger man nodding in confirmation. Sighing with exasperation, Athos stood and walked over to the bar to purchase the first of what would be many bottles of wine that night.

The next morning, a rather sore headed former Comte made his way wearily to the garrison. His three brothers were already seated at their table in the courtyard, eating whatever Serge had served up for breakfast. At his approach, the two older musketeers raised their heads and gave small smiles in acknowledgement of their friend’s presence, however the youngest recruit seemed too distracted by the food that lay in front of him. Athos took a seat next to the large man, facing Aramis. Glancing over at the young Gascon, he noticed that he was merely pushing his food around his plate and taking small nibbles here and there. “You should eat up, no doubt you’ll have a hard day's training ahead of you.” The older man suggested.

The young man merely shrugged his shoulders and mumbled “I’m not hungry.” Taking his plate in his hands as he stood and strode away from the table. The three men watched him go, but made no move to stop him. They all sat in silence until they finished their breakfast, waiting on orders from the captain. Treville stepped out of his office and strode over to peer down at his men. “There are no new missions for today, so it will be training as usual.” He declared before returning to his office. As the murmurs of quiet conversations began around the courtyard as the men got on with their daily business, d’Artagnan walked out from behind a small group and followed the captain up the stairs before knocking and entering. The three inseparables watched their youngest with concern.

“Captain?” The Gascon addressed the man in front of him once he had entered the office “I was wondering if there were any solo missions that I could do for you?” he asked quietly.

The captain looked up from the papers on his desk with a quizzical look upon his face. “Solo? Why?” he asked.

“I just want a distraction, sir. I thought a solo mission might help me clear my mind…” The boy replied, hoping that the captain would see the sincerity in his eyes.

“Very well.” Treville relented “Go to the palace and ask the captain of the red guards if he will be requiring any additional security for the guarding of Ninön de Larroque.”

“Thank you, sir.” d’Artagnan sighed as he turned to leave.

“But be polite!” The captain warned, all too aware of the running conflict between the cardinal’s men and his own.

The boy nodded in understanding before heading out of the door. Once outside, he made his way straight to the stables without stopping to acknowledge the inquisitive look that rested upon the faces of his three brothers. He would explain later, he just wanted to escape for a while to ease the gnawing ache that he now got in his chest each time that he looked at Athos. He couldn't explain it. Why? Why was he feeling like this all of a sudden? It didn't make sense. Was he just jealous of Athos because he finally got the woman he loved, knowing that he himself never could, not until Bonacieux was dead? Perhaps, but it felt like something more than that. Something that made even the sight of Athos drive a cold shard of ice into his heart. He could not explain it, therefore he was powerless to stop it. He would just have to deal with it, and one way to do that was to avoid Athos. So that is what he intended to do. He realised that this was in no way a long term solution, but it was all that he could think of for now.

With that in mind, he rode to the palace. With all the civility that he could muster, he formally addressed François, the captain of the red guards. From their brief, stilted conversation d’Artagnan had discovered that the king was to hold a sête in the gardens of the palace for the return of Ninön de Larroque. It was to be a quiet affair, and although the red guards were adamant that they could handle it, the young Gascon thought it prudent to inform Treville in case he wanted to offer the services of the king’s musketeers.

Returning to the captain, he passed along the information.

“Thank you d’Artagnan, I shall proceed to the palace at once.” Treville said as he donned his cloak and left his office.

Now with nothing to do but wait for the captain to return, the young man felt at a loss as to what to do. A quick glance around the training yard below reminded him like a punch to the heart that he could not go down and train with Athos like he used to, so instead he wandered carefully over to the firing range to join Aramis where he was training new recruits.

“… your problem is that you’re worrying about it too much.” Aramis told a very nervous looking recruit. “Squeeze the trigger firmly and use your hat to protect your eyes.” The musketeer commanded. “See! You’re starting to get it now!” He shouted in triumph as he patted the boy firmly on the back. “d’Artagnan!” He turned to the Gascon, a broad smile on his face.

A smaller version of his smile was returned. “Hey, I was wondering if I could train with you today?” When the older man did not reply he continued “I think that I need to brush up a little on my shooting skills” he explained with a shrug.

“Of course!” His friend replied happily, guiding him over to the gun table.

Athos watched on from where he was teaching, slightly relieved that his protégé was at least reaching out to one of his brothers. Although, it was a twinge of something that he couldn't quite place that forced him to look away. d'Artagnan always chose to practice with him, and watching him with another of his friends, he couldn't help but wonder if there was something more to the young man's pain. Had he done something to offend him? Shaking his head, he dismissed the idea as just another bout of self doubt, but resolved to speak to the Gascon himself that evening.


	4. A Trip to Madame Angel's

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Athos fails to get d'Artagnan to open up, Aramis and Porthos try a different method of cheering him up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, commenting and leaving kudos, you make me ridiculously happy! This chapter features more heavily on Aramis and Porthos trying to help their little brother than the previous one, but there will be more Athos and d'Artagnan focused chapters coming up. I hope you enjoy this chapter! :)

Having finished training for the day, Athos wandered over to where d’Artagnan was cleaning his pistol. “We need to talk.” Athos stated bluntly, always determined to get straight to the point.

“I’m a little busy at the moment.” The young man replied, eager to deter having this conversation with the oldest musketeer.

“There is no point in delaying this d’Artagnan,” Athos argued as if reading the Gascon’s mind “we need to talk about your situation before it puts one, or all of us in danger.” Ever the hot-headed one, the young man leapt to defend himself. Athos held up a placating hand to stop the argument before it began. “All I meant was that we need to make sure that your head is in the right mind-set when we are out on missions, but we can’t help you if you won’t talk to us.”

d’Artagnan winced. He knew that Athos was right, but he couldn’t tell him what was wrong, he wasn’t even sure that he knew what was wrong. What he did know was that it had something to do with Athos, and until he could figure out what it was about him and Ninön that bothered him so much, he was determined to keep it to himself. “Look, I know that you mean well, but I’m just not ready to talk about it yet.” He pleaded. The look in his protégé’s eyes wounded Athos, he knew that he was hurting, but thought that he couldn’t confide in his brothers. “He won’t even confide in me” Athos thought bitterly. Determined not to give up, he decided to change tactics. He would just have to get d’Artagnan drunk, he was always so much more loose-tongued when intoxicated, then he would reveal the truth.

So, after failing to get him to open up, Athos and d’Artagnan re-joined their brothers who managed to coax their youngest into joining them for dinner. Unfortunately for d’Artagnan, it was at Madame Angel’s ‘tavern’. Stopping abruptly at the door, digging his heels into the dirt to stop them from dragging him inside, the Gascon glared in horror at Aramis and Porthos. “What are we doing here?”

“Now, now, don’t be like that.” Aramis implored, clapping his young friend on the back.

“We’re just gonna ‘ave some dinner, yeah?” Porthos smirked.

d’Artagnan merely scowled in reply and remained firmly rooted to the spot. “If you’re not comfortable eating here, we could always eat somewhere else?” Athos offered, sensing the young man’s discomfort. The Gascon stiffened. He couldn’t show Athos that he was too embarrassed to enter a brothel, what would he think of him? He wasn’t some naïve young farm boy any more. No, he would have to go in. Taking a deep breath, he nodded at Porthos and followed his friends inside.

The interior of Madame Angel’s establishment was a complete contrast to the unassuming exterior. Entering the first room is an attack upon the senses, being greeted by an overwhelming aroma of perfume, strong enough to taste on the tongue. The room was full, with a plethora of gaudily clad women sashaying their way through the bustling crowd. Aramis gently guided his brothers into the next room, knowing the layout of the building well, being a frequent visitor in the past. The second room was less busy, so they settled themselves at an empty table in the far end of the room.

A woman crossed the room and approached their table “Aramis! How good to see you!” she cried, seating herself on his lap.

“Gisselle, my dear. You look as beautiful as ever.” The musketeer replied with his most charming smile. The blonde-haired beauty blushed and giggled shyly.

“Might I be lucky enough to have the pleasure of your company this evening?” she breathed, leaning close as her breath tickled the sharpshooter’s cheek.

“Not tonight, my love. My attentions are needed elsewhere,” he shot a glance at their youngest “but if you could bring my friends and I a bottle of wine, I would be most appreciative.”

She ducked her head and smiled sadly, before leaving to do as requested. “Three!” Athos called after her, but his voice was lost over the din of the room. Alone once more, the three men turned to look at their fourth. Sensing their eyes on him, d’Artagnan glanced up from where he was staring at the table to take in the sight of his brothers’ concerned faces.

“What?”

Aramis and Porthos looked at each other nervously as they silently decided who was best to broach the subject. “I confess, we might not 'ave brought you here by accident.” Porthos offered, taking the lead.

“Okay, so why are we here then?” the Gascon asked.

Aramis smiled and leaned forward in his seat “To give you a… distraction.” He let his eyes wonder to the beautiful women moving swimmingly from room to room. d’Artagnan followed his line of sight, and his own eyes widened in realisation.

“See? Now you’re gettin’ it!” Porthos laughed.

The young musketeer blanched, as words failed him. Did they really expect him to go through with this? It is true that he needed a distraction, sure, but he would rather it be in form of a mission than in the sheets of a stranger’s bed. “Besides,” Aramis patted him on the back “it may even help you get over Constance.”

The mention of her name brought a fresh wave of sorrow rolling over him. If he was doomed to forever love those who would not and could not reciprocate, maybe this was his only choice. To seek comfort in the arms of a stranger, if only for a night. By the time their youngest musketeer had regained some colour in his cheeks, Gisselle had returned with a single bottle of wine. Athos reached across the table and took it off of her with a nod of gratitude. “Thank you, my dear.” Aramis crooned, hooking her in by her waist. “May I ask one more thing of you?” She smiled and nodded “My young friend here is looking for some company for tonight, do you know of anyone that might be interested?”

She glanced over d’Artagnan from head to toe, taking him in, before turning back to her part-time lover. “I think I know of just the girl.” She extricated herself from his hold and walked over to where a beautiful young brunette was sat on the lap of a middle-aged, portly patron. After a few quiet words were exchanged the girls swapped places elegantly. The men surrounding the rotund gentlemen smirked, whilst his own face reddened considerably.

The woman who approached the musketeers’ table was around d’Artagnan’s age, of average build and had a very pretty, rounded face. Taking her in, the Gascon could see a remarkable resemblance to Constance, and took a moment to appreciate just how good Gisselle was at her job. She blushed politely under his gaze before she introduced herself “Hello, I’m Annabelle, you must be d’Artagnan.” Words once again failed him, so he just swallowed forcefully and nodded in response.

“Perhaps you two could get better acquainted in private?” Aramis smiled playfully.

Without saying another word, the young woman took the musketeer’s hand and led him to the stairs as his brothers watched on. He had been walking as if in a daze, unable to comprehend the sudden turn of events, but as the door to the bedroom clicked shut behind him the sound jolted him back to reality. What was he doing? Was he really going to go through with this? This was Aramis’ way of coping with things, not his. Was he really that sort of person?

Taking in the room, he noticed that the young escort had perched herself on the edge of the bed and was watching him as he stood at the door. Uncertain of what he was meant to do, he crossed the room and sat beside her. They sat in an awkward silence that seemed to stretch on for minutes, before his companion cleared her throat and looked at him. “Sorry,” he explained “I just don’t usually do this sort of thing.” She smiled kindly at him, but said nothing. He really did want to stop feeling the longing ache that had recently took control of his life, but this was not the way to do it.

He sighed and stood up “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.” He reached into his money pouch and pulled out a small handful of coins, handing them to Annabelle “This is payment for wasting your time.” It was not a lot of money, for the young musketeer did not have a lot to give, but he felt that he owed her for stealing her away from a potentially high paying client. “Thank you.” She smiled in return. Satisfied that he had done the right thing, he turned and left the room. 

Sneaking down the stairs, cautiously glancing around for his brothers as he passed by their room to make sure that he wasn't seen, he made his way towards the front door. He couldn't go back to his friends, fearing their chastisement or worse, pity. Once outside, he breathed deeply and leaned against the wall of the building. It was refreshing to once again be able to breath deeply without the fear of choking on fumes. He leaned there for several minutes, whilst his eyes adjusted to the dark of the Parisian street at night. Resigned to eating alone that night, he began his walk back towards the barracks when he felt himself pulled roughly to one side. 

Feeling a sharp pain as his body was slammed to the floor, and the cool edge of a blade being pressed against his neck, he tried to make sense of what was happening. “You think you can steal my girl, eh?" A deep voice growled "Think you can just embarrass me like that in front of my friends and get away with it?” The voice came from behind him in the alleyway where he was now trapped. It was the man from earlier, who Annabelle had been with. When the realisation what was happening dawned on him, he struggled to free himself from the grip of the men who were pinning him to the ground. A sweaty hand reached out in the darkness to grasp his chin and lift it up. “No. You’re gonna regret that!” The shadow threatened menacingly “I'm gonna have some fun with you, pretty boy!”


	5. Revenge Not So Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When d'Artagnan is taken by a patron of Madame Angel's, his brothers must hurry to find him before it is too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies about the slightly later update and the slightly shorter chapter, but I hope that you enjoy this chapter regardless. 
> 
> A mild warning: There is an insinuation of possible future non-con, for anyone who may be triggered by that.

Athos grimaced at the cup gripped firmly in his hand. “What do you think you are doing?” he growled. The eyes of Porthos and Aramis snapped from the retreating forms of their youngest and his companion, back to their leader.

“We’re trying to help him!” Aramis retorted.

“By getting him to sleep with random women? He’s not you!”

Hurt flashed across the sharpshooter’s eyes. It was a well-known, and often joked about fact that Aramis was the ladies’ man of the group, but it was never used to insult him. “Hey!” Porthos yelled “We both thought that it might do ‘im some good!” Jumping to his best friend’s defence.

“Then why didn’t you inform me about your plan?”

“Because we knew this is how you would react!” Aramis argued “Drinking himself to death is hardly a viable solution either!” he spat, gesturing towards the rapidly emptying wine bottle by Athos’ left hand.

“I wouldn’t wish him to, as we all know, I am no kind of good influence for the boy.” Seeing that the anger had dissipated in their leader’s eyes, Aramis and Porthos calmed and took in Athos’ pitiful posture. He sat slumped over the table, despite the little that he had drank, and was staring morosely at nothing.

When they addressed him again, their tone was softer. “What would you have us do?” Aramis inquired.

Athos sighed “I was going to get him drunk so that he would talk to me, it was the only thing that I could think of…”

“That might ‘ave worked” Porthos conceded.

Feeling guilty, the three friends lapsed into silence. Unwilling to let the drink consume his brother once more, Aramis attempted to flag down one of the passing girls to bring them a meal, it was then that he noticed Annabelle had returned to the room. Catching her eye, he called her over. “Aren’t you supposed to be with d’Artagnan?”

Annabelle blushed. “He was not interested, so he left.”

“Did either of you see him leave?” Athos asked, with a shake of their heads, the brothers confirmed that they had all missed him. “Then perhaps we should head to his quarters, to check on him?” When his friends nodded in assent, they rose and left to find their youngest.

 

D’Artagnan woke up very slowly. His head was throbbing and he could feel something sticky on the side of his face. Taking a deep breath, he listened for any movement nearby before attempting to sneak a peek at his surroundings. Satisfied that he couldn’t hear anything, he opened his left eye a crack, only to squeeze it shut again as his head began to spin. The feeling of nausea was sudden and overwhelming. Turning onto his right side, he heaved as he spilled the contents of his stomach onto the ground beside him.

Rolling onto his back once more, the youngest musketeer took deep breaths as he tried to steady his stomach before once again trying to open his eyes. This time he was more successful, as he opened them and tilted his head up slightly to make out the faint outline of a torch on a wall sconce in front of where he lay. The ground he lay on was cold and hard to the touch, and the damp smell suggested that he was below ground in a building. He just had no idea where, or how he got there.

Reaching a shaking hand down to his stomach, he realised that his weapons belts had been stripped from him, and having concussion meant any attempt of escaping from wherever he was would be impossible any time soon. Pushing himself ever so slowly upwards, painfully aware that any amount of movement made him feel dizzy, he was able to scoot himself backwards until his back met with the ice cold stone wall. From this higher vantage point, he was able to get a better look at the room he was in. It was dimly lit along the four grey stone walls, all completely identical apart from a thick wooden door on the far side of the room. There were no windows, so it was impossible to tell what time of day it was, or how long he had been unconscious.

Slowly, his thoughts turned to how he had ended up trapped. Lifting a shaky arm to his head, his fingers brushed over the sticky substance on the side of his face, which he recognised must be blood from his head injury. Looking around the room, he recognised shapes in the form of two buckets, one in each corner of the room on the far wall in front of him. Knowing that he must clean the wound before it got infected, he attempted to shift his position until he was standing. He only made it one step before swaying severely and falling. Recognising that he was not going to be able to walk for some time, he resigned himself to curling up where he had fallen, and hoping that sleep would take him.

 

Reaching the Gascon’s room, Athos knocked firmly on the door. Receiving no reply, he tried the door, it was locked. “Where would he have gone?” The oldest musketeer mused aloud.

“Maybe he went to see Constance?” Aramis suggested.

“Maybe…” Athos was unconvinced “Maybe you two should go to Monsieur Bonacieux’s and see, I shall make my way back to Madame Angel’s, to see if anyone saw where he went.” With a nod of agreement, the three set about finding d’Artagnan.

A short, awkward conversation with Monsieur Bonacieux established that the young Gascon had not been in that area for quite some time. Nodding their insincere thanks, Aramis and Porthos agreed to re-join Athos. When they arrived back at Madame Angel’s, Athos had a quaking patron pinned against the wall of the brothel. “Repeat that to me, one more time.” Athos snarled.

“He – he was taken… I saw them drag him off. Th- that way.” The weasel-like man raised a trembling hand and pointed down the street “That’s all I know, I swear!” he snivelled.

The musketeer released his grip on the smaller man, who promptly ran from his interrogator like his life depended on it. When his friends approached, the former Comte rounded on them with wild eyes. “They took him!” The usually cool-headed musketeer yelled in anger.

“Who did?” Porthos inquired, feeling his anxiety rising, twisting tight knots in the pit of his stomach.

“The men from earlier, the group we took Annabelle from! They beat him and dragged him away!”

Aramis’ blood ran cold, and Porthos struggled to prevent launching himself down the street after d'Artagnan and the men who took him. “Oh God, this is all our fault.” Aramis breathed.

“Come on!” Athos ordered, turning to storm down the street, silently praying that they weren't too late to save their youngest.

 

The next time d’Artagnan woke, it was to the sound of jingling keys. The lock of the heavy wooden door clicked open and heavy footsteps entered the room. “Time to wake up, pretty boy!” It was the man who had knocked him out. A loud tinny sound echoed in the small room, as d’Artagnan opened his eyes, he saw that a small plate of food had been dropped next to his head. “I wouldn't want you starving to death before I've had my fun with you, now would I?”

The flames on the walls flickered over his captor’s face. It was the first time that the Gascon had fully seen his face. It was rounded, with a flat nose which gave him the resemblance of a pig. He stroked his rough, stubbly beard as he looked d’Artagnan up and down. “You really are a pretty one, aren’t ya?” He chuckled, placing his other hand on the young man’s ankle.

“What do you want from me?” d’Artagnan demanded, as he tried to retreat from the man’s touch.

“Now, now, that would spoil the surprise, wouldn’t it?” The man leered “Besides, I think you’ve already guessed exactly what I intend to do to you, haven’t ya?” Wanting to confirm his assumption, he stroked the Gascon’s shin, before his hand was batted away. He frowned at the Gascon “You shouldn’t have stolen ma girl,” he warned as he stood “my friends and I are just gonna ‘ave to ‘ave our fun with you now, aren’t we?” Laughing, he left the room and clicked the lock on the door shut once more. d’Artagnan’s whole body shivered, he suddenly felt very unclean, pulling his knees in close as he tried to shelter from the cold and what was to happen to him. He sent up a silent prayer that his brothers would find him soon.


	6. A Long Day For d'Artagnan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The three brothers search frantically for their fourth, in the hope that they can save him before it is too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that there was such a long delay between the last chapter and this one, I promise that I'll start updating regularly again now. Thank you for your patience with me, your lovely comments and your kudos, I hope that you enjoy this new chapter.
> 
> Trigger warning: There is some mild non-con mentioned in this chapter.

Practically running down the cobbled street, Athos’ mind was whirling with different scenarios of what was happening to their youngest. Had they robbed him and dumped his body in the Seine? Was he already dead? Shaking his head he dismissed the idea, if they wanted him dead they would have just killed him at Madame Angel’s and left his body in the alleyway where it fell, wouldn’t they? He clung to this piece of logic as it was the only thing keeping him going.

Following their fearless leader down the street, Porthos and Aramis’ eyes searched for any trace of their youngest. “Did you not recognise ‘im?” Porthos enquired "that man who you took Annabelle from, the one that has d'Artagnan?" He continued, not daring to turn his gaze to his friend for fear of missing an important lead.

Aramis, though, was distracted by the sudden inquiry and turned to study his brother’s face “I didn’t, why do you ask?” His brow furrowed in confusion.

“You seem to know everyone there pretty well,” his voice sounded bitter “it just seems unlikely that you don’t know ‘im.”

Aramis searched for an explanation to Porthos’ tone, was he blaming him for what happened to d’Artagnan? Did he think that this was all his fault? That would explain why it sounded like he was angry with him. “I didn’t. I haven’t been there very often since…” He trailed off, fearing that he said too much already.

“Since Adele?” Porthos offered.

Aramis hated lying to his best friend, but he knew that if he ever found out about his relationship with the queen his life would be in danger. That wasn’t the only reason for keeping it a secret though, as his biggest fear was that he wasn’t sure that his friend would ever, or could ever forgive him. “Yes, since Adele.” Aramis lied. Porthos gave him a consolatory pat on the back before they both turned their full attention back to the mission.

 

Waking, stiff and cold, d’Artagnan slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. He grimaced at the plate of bread and cheese that had been left with him. Although his stomach growled and ached painfully, he would not risk a bite, he didn’t know if it was laced with some sort of sedative and he wanted to put up a fight when his captor came back. Instead, he pushed it away before once again trying to stand. This time he was more successful as he stood gripping onto the nearest wall, but his legs had started to shake from the lack of food.

He stumbled over to the nearest bucket. It was filled to the brim with ice cold water that stank of being stagnant for some time. With no better option, he crouched down and scooped his hands into the water and took a deep gulp, it tasted foul but at least it would keep him alive. Using the water, he carefully cleaned the wound of his head and tearing strips of cloth from his uniform, he bandaged it securely like Aramis had taught him to. He also rubbed the water over his body in the hopes that it would ease some of the stiffness in his joints. This action brought back some of his senses that had been dulled by his concussion. He was now acutely aware of what was going to happen to him if he couldn’t find a way out.

Breathing deeply to calm himself, he stood and walked over to the heavy wooden door. He had heard his captor lock it when he left, so there was little point in trying to open it. Instead he looked toward the hinges, he remembered talking to Porthos about his days in the Court of Miracles, when he would sometimes have to take to door off its hinges to get in or out of a place that he was robbing. The hinges were large and the door was heavy, which would make it hard for him to remove them, but he had no other choice. Before he could get to work, voices on the other side of the door made him freeze. “It’s time.” A voice barked. d’Artagnan’s blood ran cold.

 

After hours of walking through Paris with no sign of their youngest, panic was rising in the three Musketeers. Athos knew that time was running out to save their youngest before any irreparable damage was done to him. He vowed to never forgive himself if any harm came to the boy. Just when they were starting to lose hope, Aramis spotted one of the men from the party that took d’Artagnan emerging from a nearby doorway in one of the seedier parts of the city. Ducking quickly into a nearby alleyway, the three men watched as he emerged with what seemed to be d’Artagnan’s pistol fastened to his waistbelt, to stand guard at the door.

“That’s d’Artagnan’s pistol, I’m gonna kill ‘im!” Porthos growled, moving forward intent on immediately following through on his threat. Aramis quickly grabbed his shoulder before he broke cover and pulled him back.

“Wait.” Athos ordered “We need to think of a plan. We can’t charge in all guns blazing if they have d’Artagnan hostage, they might kill him!”

Seeing that Athos’ words had failed to make an impact on the largest Musketeer, Aramis stepped in. “Please, Porthos?" Aramis lay a hand on the big man’s chest as he looked at him earnestly.

When their friend grunted in assent and stepped further back into the shadows, Aramis and Athos set about strategizing. “We don’t know how many are inside, perhaps it would be wise to send word to Treville for backup?” Athos suggested.

“There isn’t time, they’ve already had him for hours, and we don’t know what state he is in. Delaying will only make his injuries worse.” Aramis countered.

“Very well,” Athos nodded “then you cover us from here. Porthos, you and I shall try and sneak around the back of the building to find another entrance.”

Nodding in agreement, they set about their given tasks. Years of practise in the Court of Miracles made Porthos surprisingly light on his feet despite his size, so he was easily able to sneak in the low light of the upcoming dawn towards the building holding d’Artagnan without being detected. Athos took a little more time, but also managed to sneak around the back of the building without the guard noticing. Searching the back wall for any other point of entry, they noted some broken windows but no door. Getting inside was going to be harder than they thought.

 

Hearing multiple footsteps on the stone staircase leading down to the cellar door, d’Artagnan quickly retreated from the door towards the furthest corner of the room. With the jingling of keys and a loud click, the door swung open. It was the man from the night before, but this time he brought friends. Fear now engulfed the young Gascon, constricting his chest and making it hard for him to breathe. His heart beat furiously against his ribcage as he looked at the man’s hands, he was holding chains.

Following the young Musketeer’s line of sight, the pig-like man held the chains higher so that he could get a better view. “I don’t want you causin’ any trouble when I’m tryin’ to ‘ave my fun.” The man laughed menacingly. The leader, with his friends following close behind, entered the room and walked directly over to d’Artagnan. “Hold him!” He ordered to his two companions. The men obeyed and moved forward to grab an arm each, to hold the now struggling Gascon in place. Eventually, despite the young Musketeer’s best efforts, his wrists and ankles were bound in manacles.

d’Artagnan watched in horror as the nameless man withdrew his hands to undo his weapons belt, and toss it to one side where it clattered noisily to the ground near to the wall. “Now,” the man smirked “shall we begin?”

Moving forward, the man grabbed d’Artagnan’s bruised face and placed a hard kiss on his lips. It was horrible and violent as his captor bit at the young man’s lips and tried to force his mouth open with his tongue. The young Musketeer thrashed as he tried to free himself from the assault. Eventually the older man withdrew and shoved d’Artagnan to the ground. Smiling down at his prey, he moved his hands to untie the threads on his own trousers, watching as the fear and horror became increasingly evident on the Gascon’s face. When his breaches were undone he refocused on his two associates “Turn him over.” He ordered simply. Mustering the last of his strength, the Gascon managed to elbow one of the assailants in the jaw forcing him to recoil in agony. The other man redoubled his efforts and managed to press d’Artagnan face first, hard into the cold stone floor.

“You’re going to pay for that!” A voice behind him warned. Now unable to see what was happening, d’Artagnan struggled pathetically whilst listening for movement above him. Two large, strong hands yanked his breaches down to his ankles so that he only lay in his smalls. “I’m gonna enjoy this, pretty boy!” One of the men spat as they readjusted their own clothing.

As d’Artagnan felt a hand sliding up towards his smalls, the man clutching his jaw approached him and kicked him in the head, hard. Everything went black as d'Artagnan was knocked unconscious by the blow. It was then that there was a cry from the room above the cellar. “Go and see what that was!” The leader ordered, briefly moving his attention away from d’Artagnan to give his order. The injured man took the place of the man leaving, and moved to caress the unconscious Gascon's body. The young man, who now lay motionless, was blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.

 

Creeping towards the front of the building, Athos nodded in the direction of the well concealed sharpshooter. After years of working together, Aramis knew exactly what that signal meant and a moment later the guard at the door was dead. Taking this as his signal, Porthos rushed forward from the opposite side of the building to follow the oldest Musketeer inside.

Rushing into the first room, where a group of men were sat around a table playing cards, Athos managed to dispatch two of the group before they even had the chance to draw their weapons. Porthos made swift work of breaking a third man’s neck, before engaging another man with his bare hands. It was clear that they were not skilled swordsmen, and they were all dead by the time Aramis joined his brothers.

As Athos had ran through the last man, he had let out a loud cry of pain before dying. Knowing that this would have alerted their presence to any other people that were in the building, they kept on their guard as they split up to search for d’Artagnan. The sound of a door opening caught Athos’ attention as he made his way towards the noise. From the top of the stairwell he could see the large figure of a bulky man making his way noisily up the steps. Unhooking his pistol, he shot the man in the head. Making his way down the stairs, knowing that his brothers would soon follow, he stepped over the body of the dead brute and made his way into the cellar.

The sight in front of him froze him on the spot. One man was crouched next to the bloody and beaten form of his best friend, who lay in only his smalls and a thin, torn shirt. Athos glanced down at the man’s hand on the Gascon’s thigh and behind his eyes saw red. Tossing his now useless pistol to one side, and with his sword gripped firmly in one hand, he stepped quickly up to the closest unarmed man and plunged his sword into the man’s chest. As his body sagged, Athos pushed the dead drunkard off of his sword and turned to face the leader of the group, who was standing shell-shocked on the other side of d’Artagnan. Slowly and carefully, Athos stepped around his injured friend and pressed his sword to the exposed throat of the quivering man in front of him.

“Did you touch him?” Athos purred slowly and menacingly.

“No! I swear!” The pig-like man choked.

“But you were going to?” Athos glanced down at the man’s untied breaches and back up at his red, sweaty face. The man whimpered, but did not reply. Athos snarled at him, as he heard footsteps approaching.

“d’Artagnan!” Porthos roared, relief evident in his voice. The gentle giant rushed over to the alarmingly still body of their youngest, followed closely by Aramis. Without breaking his gaze from the man in front of him, Athos addressed Aramis “Is he okay?”

“He has some head trauma,” Aramis stated, immediately switching into doctor-mode “it is hard to tell the extent of his injuries until we get him back to the garrison.” He nodded at Porthos, and after redressing him in his breaches, Porthos scooped him up in his strong arms.

“You” Athos spat at the last remaining assailant “shall be returning to the garrison with us, whilst we decide what to do with you.” The rotund man visibly shivered at the prospect of what lay in store for him.

“Come on, we'd better hurry.” Aramis said, whilst fussing over the unconscious body of his friend, his brow furrowed with worry. With that, they left the cellar and made their way back to the garrison for what was going to be a long and trying day ahead.


	7. The Vigil For Their Youngest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They may have rescued their youngest brother, but that was only the start of what was to be a very long, hard day for the musketeers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you lovely people for reading, commenting and leaving kudos on my story, it means so much to me! This chapter is more about exploring the relationship between the brothers than action, but I hope that you'll enjoy it regardless.

“Where have you been?” Treville yelled angrily as Athos entered the garrison with his prisoner in tow “You are expected at the palace, I believe that you made arrangements to meet the Madame de Larroque.” He descended the stairs and hurried over to the tired looking Musketeer.

Athos breathed deeply and steadied his features “Captain, I can explain.” It was then that Aramis and Porthos, carrying the unconscious body of the newest recruit, arrived looking tired and world-weary.

Treville’s expression changed from anger to concern in a flash. “What happened?” He asked, crossing the courtyard to get a closer look at the young farm boy that he had grown strangely attached to.

“He was kidnapped and beaten.” Porthos stated matter-of-factly, though it was clear that tears were welling in his eyes.

“When? How?” Treville demanded, looking over at the man Athos had in custody for the first time.

“Please, captain.” Athos interrupted “We will give you a full report later, first we must make sure that the boy is seen to.”

“Very well.” Seeing the logic in his unofficial deputy’s words, he stepped to one side to let the men past. Athos shoved the quaking prisoner towards his captain, with a nod Treville took charge and escorted the man from the garrison.

“We should take him to my room,” Aramis suggested “it is the closest.”

When the others had nodded in agreement, Porthos picked up the pace, eager to get his still unconscious brother seen to as soon as possible.

As they arrived, Porthos entered the room first and laid d’Artagnan down as gently as he could before stepping out of the way to let Aramis do his work. “Porthos, fetch me some clean bandages and castor oil to help with the bruising. Athos, grab my medicine bag from over there,” he pointed to the table on the other side of the room “and there should be some wine in the cupboard, bring that too.” The brothers jumped to their tasks without hesitation, knowing it was best to just do as Aramis said in these situations.

The make-shift doctor carefully peeled back the blood-stained bandage that was stuck to his friend’s head to examine the wound. “The wound doesn’t look to deep, but it will be impossible to tell if it is infected until it is properly cleaned.” He spoke out loud to no-one in particular, he found it easier to be methodical in these situations to disassociate himself from the reality of what he was doing. He wasn’t sure that he would be able to cope if he thought about what had happened and what might yet happen to his young friend.

Porthos returned quickly with the requested supplies and stood to one side where he would watch in silent vigil with Athos until d’Artagnan woke up, if he woke up, he thought sadly. He had watched Aramis work many times before, mostly on Athos or himself, but this was the first time that he had seen him work on d’Artagnan. Watching him now, he was suddenly struck by just how young the Gascon looked. It was strange to think that this young man had come to mean so much to him in so little time, and how he wouldn’t know how he would cope if he lost him. More than that, he wouldn’t know if Athos could cope if the young man died. Watching his best friend’s skilled hands work over their youngest, he prayed that for everyone’s sake that they would never have to find out what life would be like without d’Artagnan.

The usual steely demeanour and control that Athos had honed to perfection over the years crumbled rapidly as he watched events unfold in front of him. How could he have let this happen? It was all his fault, he should have stopped them from forcing d’Artagnan on that woman, he knew it had been foolish but had done nothing to stop it. Now d’Artagnan was hurt, possibly dying and there was not one thing that he could do about it. He had watched men be injured in battle, even die and although it had hurt he had always moved on. This was different, this was d’Artagnan. He hadn’t been injured in battle, the way that he was sure that they would all die, side by side. All for one and one for all. He had been beaten by cowards, abused and nearly violated. No musketeer deserved that, and Athos swore to himself that the man responsible would pay for what he did with his life.

“Porthos, I need you for a moment.” Aramis gestured for his friend to move closer to the bed “I’ll need you to hold him down, he may not wake, but he may try to resist as I clean and sew up his wound.” Porthos nodded in acknowledgement as he moved to stand at the head of the bed. He placed two strong hands on the young man’s shoulders to keep him in place, and nodded. Aramis uncorked the bottle of wine that he always had on hand for medicinal purposes and began to pour the deep red liquid over the gash on d’Artagnan’s head. There was a sharp intake of breath and a few weak thrashes, but the Gascon did not put up much of a fight, which worried Aramis. There was a thin line of raw, red skin around the cut. “It’s infected.” Aramis noted in a quiet voice.

There was a thud from behind him as Athos slumped into the nearest chair. If the wound was infected then there was little that Aramis could do to ensure his survival, the fight would be down to d’Artagnan. The Gascon was stubborn as a mule, and strong if he wanted to be, but would he want to be? The way that he had been acting lately, withdrawing from his friends, barely eating or sleeping meant that something was wrong, seriously wrong. How Athos wished he had discovered the real reason for his friend’s torment, he hated to see him so hurt. Now it was too late. Would he be able to fight the infection if he was already weak in mind and body before he was hurt? Would he want to fight for his life if it was his life that he was already giving up on? Athos wouldn’t think about that, couldn’t think about it if he wished to keep his sanity.

“Keep him still.” Aramis ordered as he began to stitch the Gascon’s forehead. “Hopefully it won’t scar.”

“It best not, ‘e might not be you Aramis, but the boy cares about ‘is looks.” Porthos joked, trying to lighten the mood. The two men shared a brief smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes before concentrating once again on their patient. Once Aramis was done, d’Artagnan’s breathing slowed once more but sweat had begun to pool on his pale face.

“When d’Artagnan first arrived in Paris he told me that his mother was something of an alchemist,” Aramis said whilst searching around in his medicine bag “he said that she taught him how to make a strong poultice to fight off infection. He trusted me with the secret of how to make it, just days after meeting him.” The sharpshooter smiled softly at the memory. “Maybe it will help him recover.” He pulled out the ingredients and began to make that poultice whilst his brothers watched on.

Athos was fighting the growing desire to flee the room and go drown his sorrows at the local tavern, but he would not abandon his best friend. Instead, he searched for something to do. Standing, he walked over to the bowl of water Aramis kept for cleaning himself, dunked a clean looking piece of cloth into the cold water and crossed the room to stand next to Porthos. Gently, he placed the cold compress on the burning forehead of his protégé, an oddly intimate gesture for a man who had always been so closed off. Porthos retreated to the chair that Athos had abandoned to give him more room to work. As he watched on, Athos stroked his fingers through the boy’s hair in a soothing manner. In all of the time that the brothers had been together, they had never once witnessed such care and attention from the oldest musketeer. It was common knowledge that the two had become close since the Gascon’s arrival in their lives, but it wasn’t until that moment that the three had realised just how much they had come to care for their fourth.

When the poultice was ready, Aramis handed it to Athos to place on the Gascon’s head. Pulling a small bottle out of his medicine bag, the sharpshooter held it up for the musketeers to see more clearly. “This is milk of the poppy, we need to give him some of this if… When he wakes up. I imagine he will be in some pain.” His face crumpled in sadness as he looked down at the pained expression on the young man’s face. “In the meantime, all we can do is keep him cool, make sure he drinks plenty of water and hope for the best.” Setting the bottle down on a table next to the bed, he got up and moved to sit on the only other chair in the room, next to Porthos.

The three brothers watched over their youngest like that until the sun had risen high in the sky, when they were pulled from their silent revelry by a knock at the door. It was Captain Treville. “How is he?” He asked succinctly when Porthos opened the door.

“Not good.” The largest musketeer replied sadly “His wound was infected and he still hasn’t woken up.” Stepping back and opening the door wider, he allowed the captain to enter the room to see the boy for himself. His face fell when he saw the gaunt figure tossing weakly on the bed.

“I see.” Treville said flatly “Then you must stay with him until he recovers.” Pulling out three pieces of paper he presented them to Athos “Here are your leaves of absence. I explained the situation to Madame de Larroque, she graciously accepted your apology” Treville looked poignantly at his deputy “and wishes to rearrange your meeting to a time that is more convenient for you.” Athos sent a silent thanks to Treville for having the wit to lie to cover for him. With a nod to his other men, their captain took his leave to allow them to continue their silent vigil for their dangerously ill brother. It was going to be a long, nervous wait for the three men, who could do nothing but pray for d’Artagnan’s recovery.


End file.
